The Day I Rescued Spider-Man
by Charlie Wood24
Summary: Lydia is having a completely normal, boring day of tenth grade. But when Spider-Man and the Green Goblin suddenly engage in battle in the lobby of her high school, she makes a decision that will change her life forever.
1. Chapter 1

I am just about asleep when I hear Mr. Harris call my name.

"Lydia?" he shouts, clearly aware that I wasn't awake. "What do you think? How would you solve the problem?"

I look up. The whiteboard is covered with red marker, and through my blurry eyes, it looks like someone has written all over it in Egyptian, which is odd, since I know I'm in Algebra class.

"Uh," I reply, squinting, still in a daze. Eventually, I wake up, and the hieroglyphics turn into numbers and letters, but I still have no idea what it means.

Suddenly, the walls shake, and I feel the floor tremble under my feet. Then, there's a tremendous _BOOM!_, and the walls tremble even more. The noise is so loud my ears ring, even though I can tell it was somewhere out in the hallway. It's one of those noises that's so loud and abrupt it sucks all the sound out of the air. When I look around the class, I see every student is sitting up straight, and gripping the sides of their desks. Almost all of them have their eyes wide with fear.

"Okay, students," Mr. Harris says, looking around at the walls that had just shook like weak cardboard. "Everyone just sit tight, let's see what—"

Another explosion, this one followed by the sounds of breaking glass and people screaming.

"What the hell is going on?" a loud football player named Evan shouts. "What the hell was that?"

Now the fire alarm goes off. It sounds exactly like the one that is used during fire drills. Except we all know this isn't a drill.

Just when we all get up to exit, an announcement comes over the speakers.

"Everyone please stay in place," the vice principal says over the loud speaker. "Stay in your classrooms and close the door. Await further instruction."

"No way, I'm not staying in here!" Evan yells, standing up. For the first time in my life, I agree with him.

The lights flicker on and off, there's another sound of shattering glass, and also some kind of loud _WHOOSHING_ noise. It sounds like it's coming from the school lobby, which isn't far at all from my classroom on the first floor.

I look to Mr. Harris. Most of the kids are standing up and ready to leave the class, but as much as we like to act like grown-ups, we're still just sixteen-year-old kids, and we're waiting for the adult in the room to take charge.

"I don't know," Mr. Harris stammers. He's just as nervous and scared as us, but he's trying to hide it. I can see the tears in his eyes. "I think we should—we should stay in here because that's what—"

Another _BOOM!_ from the lobby. Just as everyone in the room turns in that direction, we hear more screaming, and through the window on the door, we see dozens of students and teachers running down the hall—sprinting for their lives—in the opposite direction of the lobby.

"I'm outta here!" Evan yells, and he heads for the door. We all follow him, even Mr. Harris, who is now officially crying.

Still stunned by the sudden chaos—almost too stunned to be afraid—I head out into the hallway. I'm surrounded by all the other members of my class, and also a steady stream of teachers, students, janitors, and office workers, all of whom are dashing down the hall and away from the lobby. There's another explosion—only a few dozen feet away from me—and in the lobby I can see several fires burning. The smell of smoke fills my nose.

Just when I'm about to turn and join everyone else in escape, the smoke in the lobby clears for a moment, and I get a glimpse of something. A person, dressed in blue and red, lying on the ground. They are on their side and barely moving. A thought crosses my mind, but it's too insane to be true.

Then there's another _WHOOSING_ sound in the lobby, the black smoke completely clears, and I see him. It's a man in a green mask and tattered purple clothing, standing on some kind of black flying machine that looks like a bat. The man's mask gives him the appearance of a grinning, green-skinned demon.

I know exactly who he is. Looking down, I turn back to the person lying on the floor. With the smoke now clear, I see Spider-Man, crumpled in a heap, his costume torn and ripped, and his arm draped across his ribs.

All of this is happening only about forty feet away from me. Spider-Man and the Green Goblin are in my high school lobby, surrounded by smoke and fire, with one of them hovering in the air, and the other one barely able to move, struggling to drag himself to safety.

Then, somebody grabs my arm. It's my friend Chloe. She's one of the few people left in the hallway. Her face and clothes are streaked with soot. I can only assume she was close to one of the explosions.

"Lydia, we gotta get out of here!" she shouts, pulling me. "What are you doing? Come on!"

I suddenly realize that while everyone else was running away for their lives, I have been standing and looking towards the danger, watching the chaos. I know I should be running, too, I should be getting as far away as possible, I know that my life depends on it, I know that I'm in more danger than I've ever been, but I can't look away. As insane as it sounds, I know this is a once-in-a-lifetime moment. I will never be this close to anything like this ever again. The mysterious, wanted-by-the-law Spider-Man is only feet away, along with one of his worst enemies, the murderous Green Goblin. Even as I'm standing there, I know how crazy I'm being, and I know I must be in some kind of state of shock. But I can't leave. I am mesmerized by these two people dressed in red, blue, green, and purple, doing battle in my high school lobby. For some reason, I know I have to stay.

"Wait," I say to Chloe. "I just have to…wait. I'll—I'll…I'll follow you." I really mean it. I will follow her and get to safety, I intend to in just a few moments, but I have to see a little bit more.

"You're crazy!" she shouts. "The school is being evacuated! Come on!"

She runs off. I'm now the only person left in the lobby and hallway. Besides Spider-Man and the Green Goblin.

Now that the screaming has stopped and everyone is outside, I can hear the Goblin talking to Spider-Man. I take two steps closer, just as more of the smoke clears. The Goblin is hovering right over Spider-Man, who still appears not able to move. It's like watching two modern day gods facing off against each other.

"I told you, Parker!" the Goblin says from his flying machine, looking down. "This is how it was always going to end—with me, standing above you! Just as I always told you, Parker! There was no other possibility! This would always be your fate!"

Spider-Man doesn't respond. He half-heartedly lifts his arm—I'm assuming to shoot webs at the Goblin—but he can't. He's in too much pain. Instead, he simply rolls over, attempting to crawl away.

With a hideous grin across his masked face, the Goblin raises his arm and throws something down at Spider-Man. I can see that it looks like an orange ball, and when it hits the ground near Spider-Man, it explodes in a bright flash of red fire. But this burst of flame isn't as intense or as loud as the other explosions—this one is surprisingly weak. However, as the orange bomb sits on the ground near Spider-Man, purple smoke begins to rise from it, and soon the smoke covers him. It almost appears like the smoke is alive, swarming around Spider-Man.

"Breathe it in, Parker!" the Goblin screams with joy. "Feel it swimming in your lungs! One more dose of this, and you'll be gone from this world forever! And you will always know it was me who was able to end your silly little charade!"

I still can't believe I'm not running away—or that the Goblin hasn't noticed me yet. From only a few dozen feet away, I watch Spider-Man. He's now almost completely motionless—for a moment, when the purple smoke had first enveloped him, he had shown some fight, a last minute ditch to escape, but now he's just lying there, on his stomach with his head turned to the side. The smoke is swirling all around his face.

None of this looks like anything I've seen on TV or online. For over a year now, there's been footage and photographs of Spider-Man, always swinging through Manhattan or battling a villain or thief in New York. And every time, he was always moving so quickly, like the greatest acrobat in the world. He's known for always cracking terrible jokes, even as he's fighting crime. But now, he's just lying there. I'm not even sure if he's alive.

I dart my eyes to the Goblin. Disgustingly, he's just watching Spider-Man—he has moved closer on his flying machine and is now hovering above him. As the purple smoke continues to strangle the hero on the ground, the Goblin just hunches his back, leaning down lower to get a better view, his mouth wide and smiling. I can hear him breathing heavily behind his mask.

I look down. Only a few feet away from me, I see one of the Green Goblin's orange bombs, sitting on the floor. It looks like a little pumpkin, with a green top. There's also a series of red lights running along its middle, like the equator on a globe. As I watch the pumpkin bomb, I notice the red lights are blinking faster and faster. By the second, the flashes of red are increasing in intensity.

I have no idea what's come over me. I should run away. I should have run away a long time ago, but now, I _really_ should run away—there's a bomb only a few steps away from me, and I'm pretty sure it's about to blow. I need to get out of here.

But I don't. Instead, I reach out with my foot and kick the bomb. It rolls slowly across the hall toward the Green Goblin, but with enough speed that I know it's going to reach him.

It does, and right when it's about a foot away from him, it explodes.

KA-_BOOM_! The explosion of fire sends the Goblin flying forward and off his gliding machine. In a purple and green flash, his body careens through the air, and smashes into a glass trophy case. His glider goes spinning down the hallway out of control, and I have to duck as it whizzes over my head. I realize I now can't hear a thing. I was too close to the explosion. The only thing in my head is an incredibly intense and painful ringing. It's like a high-pitch whistle, barreling into my brain.

As I cough and wave my hand in front of my face, there's now even more smoke in the lobby, and though I can feel the heat of a nearby fire burning against my skin, I take a few steps forward. Almost instantly, I see the Goblin, trying to crawl out of the broken glass and twisted metal of the trophy case. I can see that his arms and legs are exposed and covered in blood from the blast. Against the wall, Spider-Man is lying on the floor, but all I can see of him are his legs and one of his hands—the rest of his body is still covered by the purple smoke.

Suddenly, the Goblin snaps his head up. He looks right at me.

"You!" he growls, blood dripping from his mouth. He steps out of the rubble, hunched over and clutching his stomach. "You did this? Who are you? Where did you come from? Are you a friend of Parker's?"

His yellow eyes pin on me, full of fury. I have no idea what to say. Even if I did, I'm not sure I remember how to speak.

The Goblin takes two steps closer to me. His teeth are clenched and he's breathing like a mad man. His hands are coiled into fists.

Police sirens erupt. They are right outside the school. More sirens are heard, pulling up on the sidewalk. There must be a hundred police cars that just arrived on the scene.

The Goblin looks around, hearing the sirens. He pushes a button on his belt, and suddenly his glider comes careening back down from the hallway. He jumps on the glider, spins around, hovers in my direction, and then looks down directly at me. When he speaks, he surprisingly no longer sounds like a demon—he just sounds like a man.

"You," he says calmly, "have just made a decision you will regret for the rest of your life."

With that, he flies off into the dark hallway, disappearing into a roaring fire.

I look down to Spider-Man. The purple smoke around his body has finally begun to dissipate. But he's still not moving.

The police sirens blare outside. I can hear voices now—policeman, coming down the hallway, shouting orders to each other.

"We have reports of Spider-Man and another super in the building!" one of them says. "We have orders to use lethal force at the first sight of any super! I repeat, lethal force is authorized!"

I only have a few seconds. I dash to Spider-Man's motionless body and drop to my knees.

"Get up!" I shout, shaking him, my hands grabbing his costume. "Get up! You need to get out of here!"

But there's no response. His arm moves, barely, so I know that he's alive. But still, it's clear he's not going anywhere anytime soon.

I look down the hall. I can hear the police getting closer. My uncle's a cop—I've heard the way he talks about Spider-Man and other supers. I know what will happen to Spider-Man if they find him here.

But I've read about Spider-Man. I know all the things he's done. All the people he's saved, all the good he has done for others.

Still in disbelief of what I'm doing, I reach underneath his arms and lift him up. Using all my strength, I drag him in the opposite way, away from the approaching cops. He's heavy, but not as heavy as I thought he'd be, so in only a few seconds we've exited the lobby and are now in the cafeteria. The auditorium is nearby, and I know from my drama class that there's a utility closet in there that no one uses—it's in the very rear of the auditorium, near the stage and behind a door. Because it's filled with old lighting equipment and props from plays that no one has used in 20 years, it's where kids go to smoke, hook up, or just skip class. It's so far out of the way, even teachers don't seem to bother going down there.

With the sirens blaring outside, the fire alarm still ringing, and my arms burning from dragging Spider-Man all the way from the lobby, I push open the door to the auditorium and pull him down the aisle. To the side of the stage, I open the door, and then drag Spider-Man into the utility closet filled with props and dusty lights.

Here, we should be safe. I doubt the cops will come searching here.

I hope, anyway.

I look down at Spider-Man. He's not moving, but he's breathing. I think about trying to talk to him, trying to ask him what I should do, but I know I just have to wait. If I talk, someone might hear me and find us.

I press my ear to the door and listen, praying I won't hear any footsteps or voices of cops.

I also pray that I didn't just make the biggest mistake of my life.


	2. Chapter 2

I look at my phone. It's been forty-five minutes, but no one has come looking in the utility closet near the stage yet. About a half hour ago, I heard footsteps, and the faint murmuring of cops talking to each other in the auditorium, but that was it. Since then, silence. It appears me and Spider-Man won't be found.

I look down at Spider-Man on the ground. He's moved a couple times, and even grunted in pain, but he still hasn't spoken or even tried to sit up. However, just the fact that he's moved a little shows me that he's coming out of whatever that smoke from the Goblin did to him.

"Hey," I whisper, but with urgency. "Hey. Can you hear me?"

I shake his arm, still in complete disbelief that I'm shaking Spider-Man's arm. For the first time since all this started, he reacts to me, pulling away. He grunts loudly, as if he's trying to use everything that he has left to get up and get away.

"Listen to me," I whisper. "We have to get out of here. They are going to come looking for us soon. I know you're hurt, but you need to get up. You need to get out of here with me. What do you want me to do? How do you want me to do that?"

But he doesn't answer. Not with words anyway. He just grunts again. It sounds like he's angry, like he's trying to wake up from his stupor, but he can't. Whatever that purple smoke did to him, it's made him completely out of it. With shaking arms, he tries to press his hands against the floor to push himself up, but it's a pathetic attempt. Almost instantly, he falls back to the ground, breathing heavily.

I realize he's going to be no help to me. But I have to get him out of here. And I have to get myself out of here. I could easily just run out right now and run home, but I'm not going to do that. I'm not going to just leave him here, and then live the rest of my life knowing that Spider-Man either died or disappeared forever because of me.

I close my eyes, stop my racing thoughts for a moment, and think about it—_how can we get out of here safely?_ One thing immediately pops into my mind. If we're gonna leave the auditorium, he can't be dressed like he is. That's obvious. He's gonna need different clothes. I run the options through in my head—_where in the school can I get clothes?_—and I decide my best bet is the gym, which isn't that far away. There must be clothes in there—either some guy's sweatpants or a baseball uniform—anything will do, except his current costume.

Knowing I have only seconds to act, I leave Spider-Man behind and walk out of the auditorium. It's surprisingly quiet in the school—all the police must be in the other parts of the building. Miraculously, it feels like I'm the only person anywhere near the auditorium, but then I realize that makes sense—the school was evacuated, and probably the only people in the building now are cops, and there's no need for them to be near me. Running, but still trying to be as quiet as possible, I dash down the hall, into the gym, and then into the room that holds all the dirty laundry and sports uniforms. I grab the first thing I see: a pair of grey baseball pants and a light blue t-shirt with our school logo—an eagle—printed on the front.

Running back through the silent, dark auditorium, I push open the door to the utility closet near the stage. Spider-Man is still there, thank god, and has barely moved since I left.

"Okay," I whisper, kneeling down near him. I realize that regardless of the empty building, I still need to pick up the pace. "We're gonna have to put these clothes on you. If you can do that yourself, fine, but if not, I'm gonna have to do it."

He doesn't respond, of course, except with a pained moan. He doesn't even move. There's no way he's gonna be able to put these clothes on. I'm gonna have to do it for him.

Holy crap, I realize. I have to take off his mask. The entire time on the way back to the auditorium, I was thinking about how awkward it was going to be for me to have to dress a grown man, but I never thought about how I was going to have to take off his mask. I'm going to have to take off Spider-Man's mask. And see who he is. His real face. Holy crap.

I hesitate for a second, wondering if I should even do it, knowing that it must be his greatest secret. It's the only reason he can do what he does. I imagine only two or three people in the entire world know who Spider-Man is. And I'm sure he doesn't want me being the fourth.

But, then, I realize I have no choice. I have to do it. He has no choice, either. I'm sure he'd rather me see his face, than the other option of getting found by the cops in his Spider-Man costume.

I reach down and—slowly, for some reason—I peel off his mask, then set it aside. I'm aware that probably no one has ever done this before.

What. The. Hell.

He's a kid.

My age, probably. Sixteen or seventeen years old.

Spider-Man is a kid.

I can't believe it.

The world famous Spider-Man—the superhero who has taken the entire planet by storm, and saved New York City from destruction at least five times—is a teenage boy.

And, even odder, he's a cute teenage boy.

I shake my head at the ridiculousness of all of this. For a second, I think someone must be playing a joke on me. There's no way Spider-Man is my age. There's no way he's seventeen years old. There's no way he's a cute teenage boy.

But, obviously, it's true. I just saw him battling the Green Goblin an hour ago. This same guy. And now he's here, with me, in the auditorium closet.

Spider-Man is a brown-haired, kinda skinny, cute teenager. This is insane.

Trying to put this truly unbelievable revelation out of my head, I look over the rest of his costume. I can tell it's two parts—a pair of pants and a top. I could take the top off, but that would be super weird. Even weirder now that I know he's a teenage boy—for some reason, it would have been less weird if he was like 25, like I thought he was gonna be.

Instead, I just take off his gloves and roll up his sleeves. Then, I pull the light blue t-shirt over his head. Luckily, this works: his costume sleeves are all bunched up in the sleeves of the t-shirt, but at least you can't see any of the red or blue.

Then I look at the t-shirt I just put on him. The front says "GIRLS SOFTBALL TEAM. CLASS OF 2017. GO LADY EAGLES!"

It's a girl's shirt.

Spider-Man is wearing a tight-fitting girl's t-shirt.

Whoops.

Next, I look down at this legs. Luckily, it should be easy enough to just pull on the baseball pants over the lower part of his costume, and it is. It's super weird to pull the pants up for him and put them on his motionless body, but hey, it's the only way we're getting out of here.

Finally, I look him over. Exposed face, brown hair, bare arms, sweat pants. He looks like a totally normal, teenage boy, wearing a girl's t-shirt. His face is banged up from his fight with the Goblin—black eye, split lip, gash on his cheek—but not so much that people will ask questions if anyone sees us.

But then I look at his feet. The blue and red of his boots are still showing.

Well, Spidey, looks like you're gonna havta go barefoot. I don't have any shoes, and I'm not gonna risk going to the gym again. Luckily for you, it's spring.

I pull off the boots, and place them with the rest of his costume. I realize I'm now in possession of Spider-Man's mask, gloves, and boots. Turning around, I see one of the crates of old lighting equipment for the school plays. Lifting the heavy box up, I slide them under there. No one comes in this closet, and even if they do, they aren't gonna look under that box. Hopefully when I come back to school tomorrow, they'll still be there. It's pretty much my only option.

Now ready to figure out how we're gonna leave, I turn back to Spider-Man. (Or the teenage boy that's now in his place, anyway.) Surprisingly, I see that he's moved. He's still lying on the ground with his eyes closed, but he's now on his side, and once again trying to push up with his hands.

I guess being dressed in girl's clothes by a total stranger will wake a person up, even from the Goblin's poison purple smoke.

He grunts something. It sounds like he's trying to talk. I lean in closer.

"MJ," he mumbles quietly. "MJ. MJ."

"Uh, what?" I reply. I could barely hear him. "What was that?"

"MJ," he says, repeating the same two letters. "MJ. MJ. Mary Jane."

Mary Jane. Interesting. A girl's name.

"I'm not Mary Jane," I say. I look him over. "Are you okay? Can you walk?"

"MJ," he says again. He still hasn't opened his eyes. "MJ, where am I? Are you there?"

He reaches out on the floor, looking for me. Well, looking for MJ, I guess. I take his hand, just to show him I'm here.

"I'm not MJ," I say again. "I'm Lydia. Lydia Greenfield. And you're in my high school. Do you remember what happened?"

"Goblin," he says. It sounds like he's getting weaker again, falling back into his daze. "Goblin."

"The Goblin's long gone," I reply. "And we better be, too, unless we wanna be in the worst trouble of our lives. You, especially."

He doesn't answer. Then he just mumbles again. "MJ. MJ. Are you okay?"

He still thinks I'm MJ. He's totally out of it.

"Look, we need to get out of here." I'm going to just have to take control of the situation. Which is somehow easier, now that I know I'm dealing with someone my own age. "We're gonna walk out of here, and make it look as normal as possible. Okay? Can you do that? Can you stand?"

"MJ," he says again.

Okay. Now I'm just getting frustrated.

"I'm not MJ," I say, even though it's useless. "I'm Lydia. And I'm getting you the hell out of here."

I stand him up. Thankfully, he's able to stay on his feet with my help, as long as he's leaning against me.

"Are you ready?" I ask, trying to hold up his weak, wobbly body. It's like he's drunk, or just got back from the dentist.

"Are you Gwen?" he asks.

Another girl. Very interesting.

"No, I'm your fairy godmother. Here's some pixie dust. Now let's go. One foot after the other."

I walk him toward the door, and after a few seconds he gets the hang of it. It's not easy, and we are still moving slow as hell, but at least he's kind of, sort of able to walk. I still don't think he's opened his eyes. He can't even lift his head—he's just looking at the ground.

We walk out of the dark school, and out the side door that leads to the student parking lot. I help him shuffle along the pavement, and soon we're out on the street. I don't have a car here, because I walk to school everyday, which would make this a lot easier, but at least that also means we can walk to my house.

So, off we start, walking down the street, in the dark, heading away from the school. He can barely stay on his feet, his arm is getting really heavy on my shoulder, and he has no shoes on. Me? I'm out of the school, walking through my hometown, with Spider-Man next to me, completely out of costume. We're finally free from the auditorium, and even if someone sees us now, it probably won't be a big deal. I can talk my way out of any interactions with suspicious onlookers. And the best news is, we'll be at my house in just a few minutes.

Now all I have to do is sneak Spider-Man up into my bedroom.

This should be fun.


	3. Chapter 3

When we're far enough away from the school, I take out my phone and call my mom.

"Lydia?" she shouts. I can tell she's crying. "Are you okay? Where are you? Are you all right? Where are you?"

She's freaking out, understandably. I had texted her when me and Spider-Man were hiding near the stage to let her know I was okay, but she still sounds like she's losing it. Which is what happens, when your daughter's high school is on every news station in America, mostly on fire and the recent victim of an attack by a super-villain.

"I'm fine, Mom, I'm totally fine, I promise. Seriously. I wasn't even close to anything that happened." Boy, is that a lie. Maybe the biggest lie ever, considering a half-comatose, mumbling, out-of-costume Spider-Man is currently leaning against me with his head on my shoulder as I try to help him walk down the street.

"Are you sure?" my mom says. "My god, Lydia, what happened? Is what they're saying true? Was Spider-Man really in your school?"

"Ummm…I don't know. I doubt it." Meanwhile, I have to tighten my grip around Spider-Man's waist because he's falling onto the sidewalk.

"What are you doing?" my mom asks. "Where are you? Are you safe?"

"Yeah, I'm walking home right now. Totally safe, seriously, don't worry about me. I'm totally fine."

"Okay, well, I'm on my way home, too, I left work early. My god, Lydia, I'm so sorry that happened. But I'll be right home, okay?"

Crap. This was exactly what I _didn't_ want to hear. I was counting on both my mom and dad getting home around 5:30, like usual, from work. I have to think fast.

"Okay, but, umm…Mom? Do you think…do you think you could…do you think you could stop at Nathan's on your way home and pick up some hot dogs for dinner? My favorite? It's been kind of a crazy day."

Wow, I'm going to hell. Most manipulative daughter ever. But I have to, it's my only way out of this. Believe me, my mom would be more freaked out if she knew the truth. I know the truth, after all, and I'm just starting to realize how absolutely freaking insane this is.

"Oh, of course, honey," she says, just like I knew she would. "Absolutely. I'll stop right now and pick up hot dogs and French fries and lemonade. How's that sound?"

"Awesome, Mom, thank you so much. And Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you." I mean it, and it also makes me feel better for all the horrible lying and everything.

"Oh, I love you too, honey, more than you could ever know."

Me and my mom hang up, and, with my hand once again free, I pull Spider-Man closer and start to walk faster. He's barely shuffling his feet against the pavement, and I have to pull him along. He seems to be passing out again.

"Okay, Spidey," I whisper. "I just bought us about ten minutes. You better hope that's enough to get you inside."

He mumbles in my ear, something about MJ again. A pick-up truck drives by us and slows down. The farmer behind the wheel looks out at us, confused. Then he laughs, amused by the sight of a girl and her clearly drunk, skinny guy friend dressed in a girl's softball t-shirt.


	4. Chapter 4

I push open the door to my house and quickly shut it, praying that none of my neighbors saw me just walk in with a weird boy who can barely walk and can't lift his head.

"C'mon," I grunt, hoisting his arm up over my shoulder. "We gotta head upstairs. I need your help here. I'm not strong enough to get you up there myself."

He seems to understand, I think, just a little bit, and he works with me to get him up the stairs, lifting his shaking feet and thumping them down again as we go up. His legs and feet are shaking, and he's starting to wheeze. I can hear the air rattling around in his lungs.

"C'mon," I tell him. "That's it, you're doing great. Just a little bit further. You're doing good." I give him encouragement, because he needs it. My god, he sounds terrible. I suddenly realize I need to get him help. I was so worried about getting him out of the school, I didn't even think that he might need help from the attack. And even though he's freaking Spider-Man, I also know that he's just a seventeen-year-old kid, who has no idea what is happening.

Finally, we reach my bedroom, and I drop him onto the bed. He falls like a dead body, curling up into a ball. But, I can see he's still breathing, and he moves his hands up onto his stomach. His eyes are closed, and he's breathing heavily through his nose.

"Listen," I say, kneeling on the ground near the bed and whispering. "I need to get you out of here. I need to get you somewhere where you can get help. Can I call someone? Is there someone I can call?"

He moans and shakes his head no. What do you mean, no?

"Look," I say, a little more urgently. "I need you to hear me. I don't think you understand. You are in horrible shape. I don't know what the Goblin did to you, but…I don't know what's gonna happen if you don't get help soon. Who can I call? What do you want me to do?"

He shakes his head "no" again. I think I know why he's doing that.

"If you're worried about your secret identity or something, you can stop," I tell him. "You're in my bedroom right now, without your mask on. You don't have any costume on at all. You're actually wearing a girl's softball t-shirt, if you wanna know. I've seen your face, and I know you're a teenage kid, like me. You have nothing to hide. So you can stop all that. Now, you have to give me a name. You have to give me a name or someone to call."

I hear the door open and then close downstairs. Are you kidding me?!

"Lydia?" my mom calls, still upset. "Are you here?"

"Yeah, Mom, I'm upstairs." I open my door, just a bit.

"Oh, thank god. Just hearing your voice, Lydia, just knowing you're okay…you don't know what thoughts went through my head."

She starts walking up the stairs. I quickly turn back to my bed and close the door. As fast as I can, I begin whipping pillows, stuffed animals, and clothes onto the bed, in an attempt to cover up the brown-haired teenager lying on my mattress. I open up a drawer from my bureau and dump that on him, too. Soon, the world's most famous superhero—the one who saved New York City last month from a freak with eight arms and a guy made out of electricity—is buried under about sixteen skirts, ten sweaters, nine pillows, several teddy bears, a stuffed yellow rabbit, and—if he only knew—five pairs of panties and two purple bras.

I turn back to the door, just as my mom reaches it. Before she can open it, I lunge at the doorknob and turn it, making sure I only open it a few inches.

"Lydia? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, Mom," I say, totally out of breath. I must look like a lunatic. I'm sweaty from my furious burying of Spider-Man, and also, I imagine, wide-eyed and nervous like a meth head.

"What's going on?" my mom asks, confused. "Why you are in your room with the door closed? Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yeah, Mom," I reply quickly, trying to act normal and totally failing, bouncing up and down nervously. "I'm just, uh, you know, tired, I guess. From everything that happened today, you know?"

She shakes her head. "I'm so sorry, honey, that that happened to you. It's awful. I still can't believe it. Do you wanna come down stairs and talk about it? I got the hot dogs, and dad should be home, soon, too. He was freaking out just like me, so he left work early."

Great. Of course he did.

"Yeah, Mom, I do, I wanna talk about it, I do, but really, I'm fine. I'll tell you what happened and everything, I'll tell you the story, but I'm totally fine. It had nothing to do with me, but it was…it was crazy. Can I just rest in my room for a few minutes, though? I have kind of a headache and just wanna rest for a few minutes where it's dark and quiet and everything."

"Of course, of course, honey. Absolutely. Anything you wanna do, that's fine, and if there's anything you need, just call me, okay? Just come down for dinner whenever."

"Thanks, Mom. I'll be down soon."

She looks at me and smiles, shaking her head.

"Oh, thank god, honey. When I heard—when I heard you were okay…I've never been so…I couldn't believe when I saw the news. I couldn't believe it. I thought—I don't know what I'd do without her. I love you so much."

Suddenly, she pulls me close and hugs me, smiling wide and crying. When she does, I fall forward from the quick embrace, and my foot pushes the door open. Looking over my shoulder, my mom sees into my room.

"Why's all that stuff on your bed?"

I hear Spider-Man groan from underneath the teddy bears and bras.

"Oh, I was just looking for something. Chloe wanted to borrow a skirt tomorrow—you know how she is, ha ha! Okay, be down soon!"

Like an idiot, I fake laugh again and close my door as fast as I can. My mom probably thinks I have a concussion or brain damage from a pumpkin bomb. But I'll worry about that later. Right now, I need to move quick.

As I hear my mom head back down the stairs, I run back to the bed. I begin whipping the clothes off and tossing them across the room.

"Okay," I whisper, "purple gas or not, Spidey, you need to get out of here. You need to help me figure out who to call. There's gotta be someone we can call to—"

When I finally reach Spider-Man, he's not moving. At all. His face is as white as snow. His forehead is covered in beads of sweat, and his arms are dangling uselessly. His eyes are closed.

"Oh my god," I whisper. I reach forward and put my hand on my stomach. He's breathing, but barely. Then I put my hand on his forehead. He's burning up. He has a fever. It feels like my hand is on a hot stove.

My god, Spider-Man is dying. Spider-Man is dying in my bedroom. And there's nothing I can do about it.

Who can I call? Who can I call to help?

What am I gonna do?


	5. Chapter 5

I have no idea what to do.

Spider-Man is dying in my bedroom.

A teenage boy is dying.

And I'm the only one who can do anything about it.

I stop and think rationally. What would I do in any other ordinary situation? Of course, I'd call 9-1-1. As insane as it is, the thought hasn't crossed my mind until just now. Because I'm dealing with freaking Spider-Man, it was like that wasn't even an option. But of course, it is. It's the smartest option, and right now, it's my only option.

"Listen," I say, as I kneel down next to him. "I don't know if you can even hear me or not, or if you can talk back, but I need to do something. I have to help you. If you won't tell me who to call, I'm going to have to call 9-1-1. I have to. I'm telling you right now, if you don't talk to me, I'm going to call them. In literally 30 seconds."

I mean it, too. If this kid doesn't say anything in 30 seconds, I'm calling them. Who the hell knows what will happen to him if I do—maybe they'll figure out he's Spider-Man, maybe they won't. But he'll at least be alive.

He doesn't answer me, just as I was fearing. He doesn't even moan or groan like he was doing before. His face and his arms are losing color by the second, but his lips are blue. I feel his head again. My god, it's getting hotter. And his entire body is covered in sweat. I don't even want to know what his temperature is. Just the thought of it makes me nauseous.

He's got about 20 seconds left. Then it's "stop-being-an-idiot-and-call-911" time. But is there anything I can do in the meantime? Anything to help him. I think, think, think, barely able to keep my thoughts straight. I remember from when I was a little girl, my mom always told me any fever higher than 104 was dangerous, and I know he must have one higher than that. I also know my mom used to give my Tylenol when I had a fever.

Running into the bathroom as quick as I can so my mom doesn't hear me, I grab the aspirin, fill up a glass of water, and run back into my room. I reach my bed, holding the aspirin in one hand, and the glass of water in the other.

I realize how stupid this is. This won't work. What am I gonna do? Jam the aspirins into his mouth? Then pour water down his throat? Even then, I doubt he'll be able to swallow them.

But what the hell else am I gonna do?

As a last-ditch effort, I rear my arm back and splash the water into his face, as if I'm a Real Housewife of New Jersey in an argument at an Italian restaurant.

Amazingly, Spider-Man coughs and turns over, the water running down his face and all over his shirt. He's lying on his back now, and groaning.

Holy crap, that worked.

I kneel down next to him again.

"Okay, you just got a 10 second extension, pal. Give me a name. A number. Anything. Anyone I can call. I can save your life, I can get you out of here, but I need your help. Come on."

He seems more coherent now than at any other time during all of this. Still basically out of it, but he's at least trying to talk.

"MJ," he says again. "MJ."

"Who's MJ? Is that who you want me to call, MJ? Do you want me to call MJ? What's her number?"

"MJ. MJ."

"Look, typing 'MJ' into my phone isn't going to do anything. I need a number. You must have a number. Or else I call 9-1-1 right now."

He groans and moans, slowly turning back and forth in bed, like he's in great pain. He wants to talk, but he can't.

"2," he says. Holy crap, finally, he's saying numbers. I grab my phone and type them as he says them. They come slow, but at least they come. "2…12…7…32…8."

That's definitely not enough numbers.

"I need more," I tell him. "I need more. Finish that."

"81…86."

Finally. Now let's hope this is a real number and not just the ramblings of someone hallucinating from poison gas.

The phone rings. One, twice. I realize I can't remember the last time I called anyone, besides my mom and grandmother.

Then, somebody answers.

"Peter?" It's a girl's voice. She sounds worried. "Where are you? I've been trying to call you all day. Where are you?"

"This….this isn't Peter," I reply. "It's…my name's Lydia Greenfield."

"Who?" the girl says. She sounds even more frantic now. Almost angry. "Who is this? How'd you get this number?"

She thought it was someone named Peter calling her, and now she's surprised to hear someone else, so I assume this must be an emergency number only the two of them know about. Already she sounds suspicious.

"Listen, I know this is crazy, but I have…is this MJ? Are you MJ? I was told to call someone named MJ."

"Who is this?" the girl says again. She's definitely angry now. And worried. "How'd you get this number?"

I have to just assume this is MJ. It's my only choice.

"Someone gave it to me. Someone who's here with me right now. Do you know who I'm talking about? Do you understand? Can I trust you?"

There's no answer for a long time. I can tell she's thinking. I don't blame her. I'm sure she has no idea how to react.

"Who are you?" she asks again, this time more calm. "Tell me everything, but be careful what you say. Tell me how you got this number."

I think it over. What's the best way to approach this?

"I'm a student at Claremont High," I say. "Did you watch the news today? Something crazy happened there."

"Yes," MJ says. "I saw. What happened? Were you there?"

"Yes, I was. And so was someone else I think we both know. And he's here with me now, in bad shape."

"He is?"

"Yes. He's in my bedroom."

"What?"

I shake my head. We're wasting a lot of time.

"Look, this kid is in tremendous pain," I say, more urgenty. "I don't know how you know him, but he's in horrible shape. Someone did something awful to him. Now I need to know what you want me to do."

"He's in bad shape?" she asks. "What happened? Is he okay?"

"Honestly, I don't know. He doesn't look like it. He can barely talk. And he's getting worse. I think…I think he was poisoned or something."

"Oh my god. Stay there. Stay right there. We'll come to you."

"I really think I should call 9-1-1."

"No. Not yet. Where are you? What's your address?"

I realize I'm giving my address to a total stranger. I don't even know for sure if this is MJ. Even if it is, I don't even know who the hell MJ is. But I have to risk it. I have to just trust I'm doing the right thing, to save Spider-Man's life.

"I'm in Gabler, New York. Right outside of Brooklyn. Do you know it? I'm at 16 Kirby Avenue. Hurry."

"Okay, got it. We'll be there in ten minutes. Just keep an eye on him."

"Where are you?"

"Right now, I'm in Manhattan."

"That's way farther away than ten minutes."

"We have our ways to get there faster. Just stay with him, okay? Don't let him out of your sight."

"Believe me, I won't. Just please, hurry. I'm getting really nervous for him. He's not in good shape."

"It's okay, we will be there as fast as we can. Just stay there and wait. And thank you for doing this. I know it's probably scary and awful, but it's the right thing."

"Okay, if you say so. Looking back I'm pretty sure I made about 800 horrible decisions in the last two hours."

"You didn't. But one more thing."

"What?"

"If you're not telling the truth, or this is some kind of joke, I'll...it's not going to be good for you. This is not something to joke about."

"I'm telling the truth," I say, defensively. "He's right here. And you better hurry up."

"We will. Be there in ten."

Then she hangs up. I'm left there, alone with Spider-Man, to wait.

I sit next to him on the bed. I look down at him. He's tossing his head back and forth, and groaning in pain. His hands are clutched on his stomach, and his forehead is covered in sweat. His hair is soaking wet.

"It's okay," I tell him. I move the hair off his face and rub his forehead. "Your friend is on her way. She's coming. It's okay. I know it hurts, but you're gonna be okay."

I hope I'm not lying to him. I still want to call 9-1-1. I don't know what to do. I feel sick to my stomach.

"It's okay," I tell him again, inching closer to him on the bed. Surprisingly, he reaches out and places his hand on my waist. He moans in pain. It's like he just wants to make sure someone is there with him.

"I'm here," I tell him. "I'm here with you. I'm not going anywhere. Your friend will be here soon. We just have to wait a little while. But I'm here now."

All I can do is wait. Wait with him, and hope they make it here in time.

I honestly don't know if he will last ten more minutes.


	6. Chapter 6

Almost exactly ten minutes later, I'm sitting on my bed next to Spider-Man. He's not talking or moaning anymore, but his hand is still on my waist, and now I have my hand on his, letting him know I'm still here.

I hear a knocking at the back door of my house. This is odd, because literally nobody goes to the back door. I walk to a window and look down. Two cops are waiting there in the backyard. Oh crap, I think, and I begin to panic. But then I remember—MJ said she'd be here in ten minutes. Maybe this has to do with her? God, I hope so.

My mom answers the door, and I hear them talking.

"Hi, ma'm," one of the cops says. "Sorry to bother you, but I'd like to talk to you about the recent break-ins in your neighborhood, if you don't mind."

"Break-ins?" my mom asks, surprised. "In this neighborhood?"

"Oh yeah, you haven't heard?" the other cop says. "We're just asking questions, telling people to take precautions. If you wanna step out here, we can show you what to do to make sure you protect yourself."

"Yeah, sure, sure," my mom says. "I can't believe it, I haven't heard anything about break-ins."

My mom walks into the backyard with the cops and shuts the door. As they talk, they lead her away from the house and further into the yard.

I hear a car door shut on the street in front of my house. I walk to a window and look down. A beautiful red-haired girl, about my age, is walking quickly toward the front door. A guy in a suit is following her—he has dark hair and looks older, but I can't see his face. I lose sight of them, and then I hear the front door open.

I walk to my bedroom door and open it. Just as I do, I hear people coming up the stairs. When I look out into the hall, I see the red-haired girl again. She's even more beautiful up-close, like a movie star, with freckles and ridiculous green eyes.

"Lydia?" she says nervously.

"Yeah," I whisper. "In here, hurry."

I walk back into my bedroom and stand next to the bed. MJ walks in and sees Spider-Man.

"Oh my god," she says, bringing her hand to her mouth.

"Is he in here?" a man's voice says. Then I look to the door of my room, and the man who was following MJ walks in.

It's Tony Stark. Tony Stark is in my bedroom.

"Oh, Christ," Tony says, walking toward the bed. He kneels down next to Spider-Man and checks his pulse. "How the hell did he end up here?"

"I, uh…when the Goblin…I didn't…uh…" I literally can't form a sentence.

Tony Stark looks up at me. "It's okay, sweetheart, you're not in trouble. No need to be nervous. You did the right thing. Just tell me what happened."

Tony Stark is looking at me. He just called me sweetheart.

He is the most gorgeous man I have ever seen in my life.

MJ walks to the window and looks into the backyard. "We have to hurry. I don't know how long this will last."

I try to ignore Tony Stark's perfect hair and help him with the situation. "He, uh, he was already in pretty rough shape when I first saw him and the Goblin, I think. But then, uh, the Goblin hit him with some kind of gas bomb. Purple smoke came from it, and then after that, Spider-Man could barely move."

Tony pries open Spider-Man's eyes and looks into them with a little flashlight. "Neuro-toxin, just as I figured. We have to get him out of here, Mary Jane. Now. Reed is waiting back at the Tower."

"Reed?" I say.

"Yeah, Reed Richards," Tony replies. He lifts Spider-Man out of the bed and carries him in his arms. "Of the Fantastic Four. Pretty cool, huh?"

"Uh, yeah," I reply.

"I called him to help with his. I just hope we don't run out of time. But we should be all right, this kid's pretty tough. For a nerd who weighs 130 pounds, anyway."

MJ holds open the bedroom door and Tony walks out carrying Spider-Man, who is now unconscious. I follow them, because I don't know what else to do.

The three of us quickly walk down the stairs, and I can hear my mom still talking to the cops in the backyard. MJ opens the front door and we walk out. Tony basically runs to the black car they drove up in.

"Thanks so much," MJ says to me quickly. "You have no idea how important it is that you did what you did. That was incredibly brave."

"I guess," I tell her. "I just hope that he's okay. And that no one saw us leave the school."

MJ opens the car door and jumps in. "Don't worry about that, if anything happens, we can help. Thank you again."

"You're welcome."

The driver side window rolls down and Tony Stark looks out at me.

"Great job, Lyddie," he says. "You just let me know if you ever want a tour of Avengers Tower, okay?"

He winks. Tony Stark winked at me. Iron Man winked at me. I want to live in his goatee.

"Okay," I barely reply. But before I can even say it, the car takes off, speeding down the street at about 60 miles per hour. Then, even more shockingly, its tires fold underneath itself, fires roar from the bottom of the vehicle, and it takes off into the sky, flying like a jet plane.

I watch as the car rockets off into the horizon. Well, that will be fun to explain to my neighbors.

I turn and walk back towards my house. I'm staring at the ground, shaking my head, trying to decide if all this has been real or not.

My mom is waiting at the front door. "Lydia, did you see those policemen that were here? They said there have been break-ins in the neighborhood. Can you believe it? On top of what happened at your school today?"

"I know, Mom," I reply, my head spinning. "That's crazy. But I wouldn't worry about it, I'm sure it's nothing."

"I hope so. Were you talking with someone out here?"

"Uh…no. Well, just some friends from school. They stopped by to say hi."

"Oh, you should have invited them in. We have extra hot dogs."

I laugh. "Maybe next time, Mom."

Two weeks later, I'm leaving my waitressing job at Applebee's and walking to my car. I've just about gotten over the shock of what happened that day at my school, and especially what happened afterward. I haven't heard anything about Spider-Man in the news lately, though, so I have no idea if he's okay or not. I sure hope he is, but there's really no way for me to find out.

With a sigh, I take off my apron and unlock my car, relieved that another night of being yelled at and cleaning up little kid's spilled root beer is over. But, just as I reach the car, I see a note on my windshield, underneath the wipers.

It's a little piece of folded up paper. I take it and open it.

HEY. I HEAR I NEED TO THANK YOU FOR SAVING MY LIFE.

BUT I FIGURE I REALLY SHOULD THANK YOU IN PERSON.

MEET ME ON THE ROOF OF YOUR HOUSE, IF YOU CAN.

The note is signed "SM."

I hop in my car and drive home, as fast as I can.


	7. Chapter 7

When I get home, I check to see if my parents are asleep, and thankfully they are. Then, I run outside to my dad's shed, grab a ladder, and quietly set it up against the back of my house. I climb up it as fast as I can, wondering if I'm going to see what I hope I will when I get up there.  
>When I reach the top rung of the ladder, I see Spider-Man, waiting for me. He's fully dressed in costume, and kind of hiding in the shadows.<br>"Hi," he says, as I step onto the roof.  
>"Hi," I reply, much more nervously than him.<br>A moment passes.  
>"I don't do this very often," he says.<br>"Me either."  
>"What?"<br>"Talk to, you know…superheroes."  
>"Well, you've done it once before."<br>I chuckle. I guess he's right. "Kind of. But you were mostly unconscious."  
>I hear him laugh a little through his nose. I can't see his face, of course, but I definitely hear him laugh. I just made Spider-Man laugh.<br>"That's exactly why I'm here," he says. "To thank you. I…literally, I can't thank you enough."  
>I shake my head. "It's okay. You don't have to thank me. I…I just did what I had to."<br>"I know, but not many other people would have done that. I don't think _anyone _would have done that. You risked your life, more than once, I'm guessing."  
>I shrug. "Kinda." Now that I know he's my age, I can hear it in his voice. It's crazy to know Spider-Man is only teenager, especially when he's right in front of you.<br>"You saved my life," he says. "And that's something…I wouldn't be here, if it wasn't for you. If you didn't do what you did. It's not often…what you did was insanely brave. Ridiculously brave, and kind of crazy. And I'll never be able to tell you how thankful I am."  
>I don't know what to say. "Really, I just couldn't leave you like that. I knew…I knew what would happen. Either from the Goblin or the cops."<br>He nods. "How the heck did you do that?" he asks. "What did you do? I mean, I remember a little, but not much."  
>I think it over. "Well, right when the Goblin was hovering over you, I kicked one of his pumpkin bombs towards him. And it kind of blew up."<br>"Are you serious?"  
>"Yup."<br>He rubs his temples and shakes his head. "Wow. That's just…insane. And kind of hilarious."  
>I laugh. "I know. Tell me about it. And try being the one doing it."<br>"And then what?"  
>"I dragged you into a closet. And then when the coast was clear, I brought you into my room."<br>"And called MJ."  
>"Yes. Is that your girlfriend?" I can't believe those words just came out of my mouth.<br>"Umm…"  
>I hold up my hands. "No, it's okay. You don't have to tell me. I didn't—I know you probably don't wanna share that kind of stuff. I shouldn't have asked."<br>He laughs. "No, it's not that. You've already seen my face and you know my name. That cat is out of the bag. That cat is out of the bag and is now doing a tap dance on top of the bag. It's just that…it's complicated."  
>"What is? MJ?"<br>"Yes. She was my girlfriend, but she's not anymore. We're just…friends now. Kind of. I'm pretty sure she hates me. But I think we might be friends. Maybe."  
>"You also mentioned someone named Gwen."<br>He gets quiet. "That's even more complicated. Wow, I guess I wouldn't shut up when I was under that gas, huh?"  
>"No, you wouldn't talk much at all, actually. Pretty much all you would say were girls' names."<br>"Figures. Even when I'm mostly unconscious, I can't get my crap together."  
>I laugh. It's quiet for a moment.<br>"Is…is your name Peter? That's what MJ called you."  
>He thinks it over. "Yes, that's my name. Do you go to the school where me and the Goblin…?"<br>"Yeah. I'm a sophomore. What about you?"  
>"I'm a junior. But I don't go to your school."<br>"I figured. I've never seen you before. Where do you go?"  
>He thinks again, then laughs. "That's the one thing you don't know about me, so I think we should keep it that way."<br>Fair enough. "I get it."  
>It's quiet again. I can hear the crickets chirping.<br>He steps out of the shadows, and I can see him in the light. "Well, I guess I gotta…I should get going. But thank you, again. I wanted to make sure I thanked you in person. When I can actually, you know, speak."  
>I laugh. "Thank you, I appreciate it. But really, you don't have to thank me."<br>"No, I do. Is there anything, anything I can do for you? Seriously, just let me know. I need to pay you back somehow."  
>I think it over. "There is one thing." I look to my left. On the side of my house is the post office. It's a big tall building with a flagpole on top.<br>"Want to take me over there?" I ask.  
>The next thing I know, I'm swinging toward the post office with Spider-Man. He has his arm around my waist and is holding me close as we fly through the air. His other arm is holding a web, which is attached to the post office's flagpole. With the wind whipping through my hair, I eventually realize we are heading straight for the wall of the post office. But, when we hit it, Spider-Man sticks to it, just like I've seen him do in so many pictures online. With his arm still around me, he uses his one free hand and his feet to climb up the wall. It's the funnest thing I've ever done.<br>Soon we reach the top of the building and we are on its roof.  
>"How was that?" Spider-Man asks.<br>"Awesome," I reply, out of breath from how awesome that was. "I can't even imagine what it must be like swinging through the streets of New York."  
>"Just as awesome as you think it is," Spider-Man replies. "Actually, even more awesome." He looks around. "Pretty sweet view from up here, huh?"<br>I look around. We're on the tallest building in my neighborhood, the tallest building around for miles. Many of the nearby houses are lit, and the stars are shining.  
>"It is," I reply. "Gorgeous, actually."<br>We look around the view.  
>"Well, this is a two-way ticket, you know," Spider-Man says eventually. "Time to head back. You ready?"<br>He pulls me near and wraps his arm around me again. This time, he holds me closer. I feel his fingers squeeze my waist.  
>"Here we go," he says. He holds his other arm out, presses down his two middle fingers, and I hear a THWIP! sound. Grey and white webbing shoots from his wrist, and sticks to the roof right above my bedroom window. He grabs the webbing tight, runs to the edge of the post office, and we leap off.<br>After soaring down through the air, we swoop up again and right onto the porch roof. In a matter of seconds, we're standing outside my bedroom window again.  
>"Wow!" I say. "That was insane! That was even more fun than the first time!"<br>He laughs. "Good, I'm glad. It's the least I could do. I just hope none of your neighbors saw us."  
>"I don't care if they did. That was amazing."<br>I look back at the post office and laugh at how crazy that was. I know I'll never forget it.  
>"Well, I really should get going," Spider-Man says. "I stayed way longer than I thought. But thank you, again. I know I've said that a million times, but you saved my life."<br>I shrug. "I'm just glad everything turned out okay. I'm just glad _you're_ okay."  
>He nods. He looks at me a long time.<br>"Well," he says. "If there's anything you ever need…I don't know how you would contact me, but…"  
>"Actually, I have your number in my phone. The one I called MJ on. I don't know if that's just a number the two of you use, or…?"<br>"No, that's a good idea, actually," he says. "That is a number just for the two of us, but that's good—that means no one else knows it. That way, if you ever need anything, you know how to get me. I think I can trust you. Even if I can't, I have no choice. You already know the number."  
>I laugh. "Don't worry, I won't use it if I need to. I doubt I ever will."<br>He nods. "Well, if you do, don't hesitate. You know. If you need something. I'll answer, and be here right away. Or wherever you need me. I still owe you."  
>"Okay."<br>A moment passes. I keep thinking he will swing off, but he doesn't. He just looks at me, like he wants to say something.  
>"Well," he finally says. "I'm glad I got to come by here. I'm glad I got to see you again, when I was in better shape."<br>"Me too," I say.  
>"Is there anything else you need?"<br>I realize how much I want to see his face.  
>"Can you…can you take off your mask?"<br>He thinks. "I don't know…I don't know if—"  
>"I just want to see you again. See what you looked like the other day."<br>He doesn't say anything for a moment.  
>"Okay," he says. "But come back here in the dark, in case anyone can see us. I already stayed here way too long, but come here at least near the window."<br>He steps backward toward the wall. I follow him. Soon, we're in the shadow of the roof. It's dark. We're close to each other, to make sure we're both hidden.  
>"Is that good?" I ask.<br>"I think so," he says.  
>My body is right next to his. We look at each other for a moment. He's taller than me, so I'm looking up at him. I can hear him breathing.<br>Finally, he reaches up with one hand and lifts his mask off his mouth. Then, pulling up, he takes his mask off.  
>I see the boy who was in my room the other day.<br>"There," I say. "That's who I remember. Except you look much better now, being awake and everything."  
>He laughs. "I can't believe I did that. I've never done that for anyone. Well, mostly anyone."<br>"Do you regret it?"  
>"No. Not at all."<br>A moment passes.  
>"I know you have to go," I say. "I don't want you regretting—"<br>Suddenly I feel his hand on my waist. He pulls me closer. His hand is on my back and he's holding me against him.  
>Leaning down, he kisses me. I'm shocked at first, but then I kiss him back. He pulls me even closer. He places his gloved hand on my face, then runs it through my air. I wrap my arm around his waist. It lasts a long time. It stars to get more intense, but then he stops.<br>"I'm sorry," he says. "I shouldn't—that's not…that's not why I came here."  
>"I know," I say, looking up at him. "It's okay. You don't have to be sorry. I was…I was hoping you would do that. I'm glad you did."<br>He laughs, shaking his head. "I can't believe I did that. I must be out of my mind."  
>"Me too," I say. "I just kissed a total stranger."<br>He laughs. "Well, before I do anything else incredibly stupid, I gotta go."  
>He pulls his mask down over his face and turns to the wall.<br>"Do you really think it was stupid?" I ask.  
>"Well, maybe not stupid, but reckless. I've never done anything like that before."<br>"Me either."  
>It's like he's in a rush now, like he came to his senses and needs to get out of here.<br>"Well, I'm glad you did," I say. "I'm glad you came here."  
>He climbs up the wall so now he's standing on the very top of my house. He looks down at me.<br>"I'm glad I did, too," he says. "And I'm sorry if I did anything…"  
>I shake my head. "Stop it. It was great. I saved your life, after all. It's the least you could do."<br>He laughs. "Well, I'm outta here. Do me a favor."  
>"What?"<br>"Don't go posting on Instagram or Twitter that you kissed your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, okay?"  
>I laugh, but I realize he's using a slightly different voice now. It must be the voice he uses when he's Spider-Man. He must be regretting what he did and is kind of trying to hide his identity, even though I'm sure he realizes it's much too late for that.<br>"I won't," I tell him. "Maybe Twitter, but that's it."  
>"How about Myspace?" he says. "That way no one will see it."<br>I laugh. As I look up at him, he extends his arm and shoots a web up at the post office flagpole again.  
>"Thanks, Lydia," he says. "For everything you did. I'll never forget it."<br>"Me either," I reply.  
>Then, with that, he jumps off my roof, swings toward the post office, and up onto its roof. He runs into the darkness, and then he's gone.<br>I stare up at the post office roof.  
>Holy crap. This was the best night of my life.<p>

A week later, I'm sitting in the kitchen of the restaurant where I work. I'm on break, not-really-enjoying a not-really-great chicken caesar wrap. It's been an insanely boring night, one of those work nights that just seem like they won't end, and the restaurant has been pretty much empty all night. Desperate for anything to keep me awake and save me from this boredom, I check my phone—I'm hoping for some texts, but I'm so desperate, I'd even take a software update.  
>I don't have any texts, but I do see I have a notification on Facebook. It's a friend request. When I open it, I see it's from someone named Peter Parker.<br>I gasp, holding my breath. When I click on his name, my fingers start to shake. I see his profile pic is definitely him.  
>I also have a message.<p>

HEY. I JUST COULDN'T HELP MYSELF. I KNOW THAT'S CRAZY, BUT IT'S AT LEAST NOT AS CRAZY AS WHAT I DID THE OTHER NIGHT. WANNA MEET UP AND GET A COFFEE OR SOMETHING? AS, YOU KNOW, NORMAL PEOPLE?

Oh my god. This is insane. I can't believe he did that. But I'm so glad he did. He must have went looking for me on Facebook. This is crazy.  
>Just when I'm about to click on the message to write back, the door to the kitchen opens.<br>"Lydia?" I hear someone say. I look up. It's one of my co-workers, Gina.  
>"Yeah?"<br>"Your uncle is here. He asked me if you were around."  
>"My uncle?" I ask. My uncle lives in Pennsylvania. I don't know why he'd be here.<br>"Yeah. He's at table 3."  
>I walk out of the kitchen and into the dining room. I see a man at table 3. He's dressed in a suit.<br>He's not my uncle.  
>I walk slowly to the table, confused. There's another man sitting at the table. This man is huge, like a body builder, with long brown hair.<br>When I get closer, I get a better look at the man in the suit. He has slicked-back hair and he looks familiar, but I can't place him.  
>When I reach the table, he smiles.<br>"Hi Lydia," he says. "Remember me?"  
>I recognize the voice instantly. It's the same voice I heard from the Goblin in my high school.<br>Still smiling, he pulls out a seat.  
>"Here," he says. "Have a seat. Sit down. Let's have a chat."<br>I look around the room. I can barely think straight. I can feel my breath getting faster and faster. What am I gonna do? Do I run? Should I run? Can I run?  
>"Come on," he says with a laugh. "Let's have a bit to eat. I wouldn't want to make a scene. Let's not make this any more…disruptive than it needs to be."<br>I look at him. He's smiling, but I can tell he's angry. I look to the other man with him, the huge man with long hair. He's just staring at me, completely serious. His eyes almost look like he's hypnotized.  
>"I'm not going to hurt you," the man in the suit says. "We just weren't properly introduced the other day. And I'd like to hear all about where you went with my little friend after I left."<br>I stare back at him.  
>"Come on, Lydia," he says. "I'm not nearly as scary without my mask. Am I? I just want to ask you a few questions."<br>I think it over. There's no one else in the restaurant. It's empty.  
>"Victor," the man in the suit says. "Go stand by the door so me and Lydia can talk in private."<br>The huge man with long hair stands and walks to the door, stopping in front of it. No one can come in or out. I'm trapped in here, with the Goblin.  
>"Sit down, Lydia," the man in the suit says. "I'm not asking again."<br>With my arms shaking, I sit down in the chair.  
>"Now," the man says. "My name is Norman. So we can get that out of the way." He opens a menu. "I'm going to have the grilled salmon. What would you like? My treat. We can eat while we talk."<br>He smiles at me again.  
>"Where should we start?" he asks.<p> 


End file.
